Masked by Moonlight

Three men finally came rushing out the kitchen door, just as the blade sank into Covington’s forearm. Georgia flinched at the sound of it ripping through the fabric of Mr. Covington’s jacket. The Englishman gave a roar of pain, at which the wiry lad squirmed out of his grasp and leaped through the gate his companion had left swinging.

“We draw no blood in Grace House!” Bauers bellowed after him, rushing to Covington’s aid.

Georgia was still clutching the fountain, unable to move as she watched scarlet ribbons creep out from between Mr. Covington’s clenched fingers. He’d been stabbed. She’d seen Cook cut herself with a kitchen knife, but had never witnessed anyone being purposely stabbed. Her brain seemed unable to accept the concept.

“Georgia!” the reverend called. “Come here.”

Covington’s eyes locked onto hers. She tried to breathe, but it was as if her corset had tightened into a vise. Dimly, she saw him force a smile.

“Shall we go find me a bandage and dry you off?” he asked.

A thick, red drop of blood fell from his clenched hand and splattered on the flagstone, snapping her out of her stupor. She let go of the fountain, and the breath she’d been trying to take rushed suddenly into her lungs.

Reverend Bauers took off his coat and wrapped it around Georgia’s shoulders. She really wasn’t that wet, but she shivered as the clergyman slipped Mr. Covington’s waistcoat off his good arm and bundled it around the injured one. “Since we’ve ruined your coat already, it might as well serve as a bandage until we get you inside. We might have to stitch you up, Covington. There are medical supplies in the next building—can you walk?”

Chapter Ten

A sharp scent made Georgia gasp. She felt the warmth of a hand on her shoulder.

“Miss Waterhouse?” a genteel voice was saying. It sounded foreign and yet somehow familiar. “Miss Waterhouse, can you hear me?”

“Hmm?” She rolled her head in that direction, waiting for the smoke all around her to clear. The sharp scent came to her again, making her cough.

“Georgia, my child,” said a second voice, “wake up. You’ve been far too brave today. Open your eyes, child.” A cold, wet cloth touched her brow, and she recognized the voice as Reverend Bauers’s.

The sharp scent returned a third time, making her lurch forward and rasp in a breath. She grabbed the reverend’s hand as the room spun around her.

“You fainted, Georgia,” he said, with an affectionate laugh, “I told you to go home, and that there was no reason to sit through my stitching Covington up. You are more stubborn than that brother of yours at times.”

With a white-hot flash that made her eyes open wide, Georgia recalled her circumstances. How foolish she had been to insist on staying through the gruesome task. “Dear me. I’m so dreadfully sorry to have caused such a fuss.”

“It’s I who should be offering the apology,” said Mr. Covington, looking much better than the last time she remembered seeing his face. “This was no place for a lady. Even a very brave lady.” He held up a bandaged arm. “You’ll see I’ve made a fine recovery, and I should never forgive myself if you do anything less than the same.” He leaned in, his dark brows furrowing in concern. “Are you quite all right, Miss Waterhouse?”

Georgia blinked and took a deep breath, then dabbed at her face with the cool cloth the reverend offered. “Yes. Yes, I think so. Although I’d find a glass of water very welcome.”

“Stay off your feet, Covington,” said the reverend, pushing himself up from the floor, where he knelt in front of Georgia. “I’ll go fetch our brave Miss Waterhouse a glass of water, and perhaps a bit of apple for the both of you. It’s been a trying morning, wouldn’t you say?”

“Most trying, indeed,” she said, fussing with the reverend’s coat, which was still wrapped around her. She really wasn’t as soaked as everyone seemed to believe. “I’m afraid I’ve proved a miserable guide, Mr. Covington.”

“Not at all,” he replied. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve had such a lovely lady swoon on my account.” A wide, warm smile flashed across his face. “It’s done marvels for my spirits.” He nodded toward his bandage when Georgia blushed. “And the arm should heal quickly.” He returned his gaze to her face and let it linger for a moment.

Georgia felt the room begin to spin again. “Gracious, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a larger needle.” She fanned herself with the cloth and sat up a bit straighter.